


april showers bring may flowers

by adularescence



Category: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, F/M, Happy Ending, I haven't actually finished the game, Post-Calamity Ganon, Pre-Calamity Ganon, because I wanted to collect all the memories, but I love is so much, can be read as platonic or romantic it's up to you, purah and king rhoam are there for half a second each, somebody please give zelda and link a break
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 21:01:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28962834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adularescence/pseuds/adularescence
Summary: And goddess, for all Zelda talks she never really says the things she means to say. It had infuriated him at first, because Link was no scholar, not like Zelda. He hadn’t even learned to read until he was fourteen. And yet there was Zelda, who had spoken exclusively in metaphors and implications, in unasked questions, in the words unspoken. And Link, for the life of him, could never quite seem to wrap his mind around her. He had grown up in the country, with a simple life and simple mind. But Zelda had been so roundabout, so different, so complex, and Link had hated her for it. Goddess, had he hated her.But here’s the thing. Link is seventeen now, will be eighteen in a few months. He’s no longer fifteen years old, freshly plucked from the obscurity of normalcy by some sword, some duty, some destiny. He’s older now, has known Zelda for almost three years. And he thinks that maybe that’s why he understands. There are simply some things you cannot bring yourself to say.When all is said and done, what do we owe to ourselves?
Relationships: Link & Link's Father (Legend of Zelda), Link & Zelda (Legend of Zelda), Link/Zelda (Legend of Zelda)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26





	april showers bring may flowers

**Author's Note:**

> I’m late to the party but, oh well? Enjoy!
> 
> 2/14/21 added a few small additions to help the story flow better, and changed Link's age to better fit with canon. All the original parts of the fic are still there though!

_At lunchtime I bought a huge orange—  
The size of it made us all laugh.  
I peeled it and shared it with Robert and Dave—  
They got quarters and I had a half.  
And that orange, it made me so happy,  
As ordinary things often do  
Just lately. The shopping. A walk in the park.  
This is peace and contentment. It’s new.  
The rest of the day was quite easy.  
I did all the jobs on my list  
And enjoyed them and had some time over.  
I love you. I’m glad I exist._

_— Wendy Cope, The Orange_

* * *

Link is twelve when he draws the sword. His birthday had been two weeks before. 

It’s cold at first, bitingly so, and Link almost lets go for fear that his fingers will freeze. It’s the middle of winter after all, and he had somehow gotten himself lost in the middle of the forest. It’s not as though he hasn’t gotten a little turned around on an adventure before, but the thought of frostbite has never been appealing, regardless of being well traveled. He hadn’t needed to worry though, because a moment later the sword is warm to the touch, pulsing gently against the palm of his hand. It feels alive, breathing, like it’s rooting itself into all the little corners of his soul. He feels complete, at peace. 

And then suddenly he’s a hero, destined to save Hyrule, save the world. The king praises him, tells the entire kingdom of his supposed glorious future, and although the princess goes along with it, Link can see the resentment in her eyes. It’s easy to ignore her though, when he’s caught up in the plethora of people vying for his attention, trusting in his ability to keep them all safe. And he knows he must prove himself, because there are lives in his hands now, hundreds of thousands of them and more counting. He cannot fail. 

Link feels weak in the knees, in the heart. Two weeks ago he had thought himself mature, well on his way to adulthood. Now, he feels like a child. 

But there’s no time, nor need, for all that, because there are some things that are larger than ourselves. So Link puffs his chest, steels his nerves, holds his breath. 

He will not fail.

* * *

Zelda is not what Link had expected, to say the least. She is stubborn, headstrong, daring, and adventurous. She is everything Link probably should be as the hero of Hyrule, but isn’t. In comparison to Zelda, he finds himself falling hopelessly flat. 

But then sometimes, in the quiet of the night, Link catches her slipping. Because behind all that bravado is Zelda, desperately trying to not fail her kingdom. Zelda, blessed with wisdom and genius, with a wonderfully curious and analytical mind, but no power. Zelda, who is meant to be a goddess but is, to the core, human. 

Despite the resentment and the pettiness, Zelda is familiar in her duty to Hyrule. Because at the end of the day, the weight of the world is a burden they shoulder together. So no, Zelda is not what Link had expected, because he hadn’t thought she’d hit quite so close to home.

* * *

It’s still pouring, rain coming down harder than he’s ever seen in his life. Lake Hylia looks dull in the gray light. Zelda speaks through it all, about legacies and destinies, pathes, choices. _Your father was a knight,_ she says, _and now you are too. You’re a knight, but is that really you? Is that who you’re meant to be?_ Link, hopelessly stuck in his silence, listens.

“I wonder then,” she says, voice hesitant, unsure. She pauses, and Link prays she won’t finish, if not for his sake then for her own. “Would you have chosen a different path?”

He does not know how to answer her, because at some point the lines had become blurred. He does not mind the knighthood, not at all actually. At least, he doesn’t think so. At one point it had even been a dream. He had been a child then, hoping for action and adventure and a bright future. He could not have known that it would all catch up with him, eventually. He could not have known the burden he was to carry. 

He had not known that a sword weighs equally on the mind and the hand.

* * *

Lanayru promenade is as beautiful as ever, grand pillars of marble standing tall and mighty against the tremble of the earth. Link does not think he can forget this place, not the stone or the waterfall or the gentle caress of mist. The sun dips low on the horizon, glowing orange against the twilight. On the other side of the sky is the moon, red as blood, and Link knows what is coming. 

Zelda’s voice is soft when she speaks, but against the chaos of the world it rings loudest. “I don’t want this for you.”

And goddess, for all Zelda talks she never really says the things she means to say. It had infuriated him at first, because Link was no scholar, not like Zelda. He hadn’t even learned to read until he was fourteen. And yet there was Zelda, who had spoken exclusively in metaphors and implications, in unasked questions, in the words unspoken. And Link, for the life of him, could never quite seem to wrap his mind around her. He had grown up in the country, with a simple life and simple mind. But Zelda had been so roundabout, so different, so complex, and Link had hated her for it. Goddess, had he hated her.

But here’s the thing. Link is seventeen now, will be eighteen in a few months. He’s no longer twelve years old, freshly plucked from the obscurity of normalcy by some sword, some duty, some destiny. He’s older now, has known Zelda for almost three years. And he thinks that maybe that’s why he understands. There are simply some things you cannot bring yourself to say. 

“I don’t want this for you either,” he says, because that’s the thing she won’t say, that Link won’t say either. Zelda would never give up her birthright, in the same way Link won’t give up his sword. It’s the kind of thing that you wish and plead and cry for, but in the end you don’t for fear you’d be crushed under the weight of your own failure. Duty, Link thinks, is stronger than the ties of blood. 

And so, when all is said and done, they fight. And Link does not think about his father, about sharp, pale eyes and warm, crooked smiles. Does not think about his worn-down home in Hateno. Does not think of golden wheat fields or ocean breezes or mountains in the background. He does not think at all, because he knows he will regret leaving them behind. 

The fields burn and they fight.

* * *

When he wakes, he doesn’t remember, not the sword or Ganon or the guardians or Impa or Purah or Robbie. Not the champions nor their divine beasts. And not Zelda, _goddess_ not Zelda. She’s a blurry idea at best, nothing more than a disembodied voice that Link still, oddly enough, finds comfort in. 

He doesn’t remember cooking either, but somehow it comes naturally. He wonders, briefly, if he had been a chef at some point, but it feels wrong to ask about something so trivial when he still can’t bring himself to ask about Zelda. Perhaps it shouldn't really matter though, because he’s not really the same person as before if he can’t even remember. It’s not like there’s anything stopping him either. 

And so he sets off, armed with nothing more than the clothes on his back, a shaky collection of weapons, and a newfound passion for cooking. Hyrule is vast, rolling plains leading into dense forest thickets and snowy mountain trails. Everythings seems so vivid, and Link often finds himself getting sidetracked, too lost in the sheer beauty of it all. There’s no time to waste, yet somehow, he keeps finding the time. 

Slowly but surely, Zelda comes back to him in pieces, tiny fragments of his memories. It’s not much most of the time, just a collection of brief moments that end up leaving more questions than answers. But it’s a relief, because Zelda is a person now, just as alive as the remnants of Hyrule, and Link knows without a doubt that he will not fail her.

* * *

The second time he draws the sword is different. 

For one thing, he’s older, an actual adult in place of a half-grown child. Age does not change the weight of its duty, but it does make it just the slightest bit easier to bear. 

The sword is still cold, because not even the sunlight filtering in through the canopy is enough to warm such an object. But, like the first time, the life comes back eventually. And this time, Link can hear its voice. This time, he can hold it properly. 

And this time, Link finally, finally remembers.

* * *

Hateno is comforting, in its cottages and mountain scenery. But what Link loves most is the wheat fields, rich yellow and swaying in the wind. If he closes his eyes, he can almost imagine that Zelda is there with him, that he’s running his fingers through her hair and not wheat. That the salt in the air is from her sweat, not the ocean. That the guardian pieces in his bag are for her, not Purah. That he is not so achingly alone. 

Link cannot remember much of this place, not of his father or his house or his childhood. He wishes he could, goddess does he wish he could, because he knows without a doubt that this is home. 

He is not meant to stay though, not this time, not yet. There is still a war to fight, to finish. But for now he sits, soaking up the sun and the earth and the peace, lost in an endless field of gold.

* * *

It is late spring now. The last of the wildflowers have just begun the bloom. The sun is but a small crest in the east, just barely breaking the horizon. The air smells of freshly cut grass, damp earth, and rotting blood. 

It is on this day that Ganon finally falls.

* * *

He meets her halfway.

* * *

The house is old, crumbling and barely held together at the seams. But Link had loved it. It had been his childhood home after all, and although his memories are slightly jumbled, it holds a strange kind of nostalgia. 

He’s got a pot of soup broth on the stove, chopped vegetables on a cutting board in front of him. The scent wafts through the house, and Link feels the tension leave his shoulders. Somewhere along the way, his inexplicable interest in cooking had grown into something more. He does not know how it happened, but he’s learned not to question it. It’s a small little thing, but it means the world to him. 

Zelda is curled up on the couch, nose stuck in a book. She has a small scattering of gears, screws, and cores spread on the table in front of her, in some kind of organized mess. The guardians to her are what cooking is to Link. 

Deep in a pile of armor and knickknacks and boxes under the stairs lies a sword and bow, gleaming with a divine light. A thick layer of dust coats them, forgotten after years of disuse. It concerns neither Link nor Zelda though, so they remain untouched. 

And here’s the thing. This is the aftermath of it all, where Link is not a hero and Zelda is not a goddess. Where Link cooks and Zelda tinkers in an old cottage in Hateno. Where duty and blood and fate and destiny tie Link to himself now, not to a sword or Hyrule or an unfinished war. This is the real ending, the after story. 

And this, Link knows, is what we owe to ourselves.

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what this is but it just came to me so here I am. I never thought I’d be falling into the Zelda fandom this year (my go-to childhood video game was pokemon, because I suck at literally any kind of combat) but I’m kinda living for it. I’m still trying to learn all the lore cause i’m a noob, so sorry if this is inaccurate at all lol. 
> 
> Anyways, thanks for making it to the end, and I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
